Playing the Game, Living the Lie
by believeindreamers
Summary: Yay! My third post in one day! This one is also a songfic, also to a song by 3 Doors Down ( I just bought the cd, and love it ), and it's about the guy everyone loves to hate: Voldemort! R & R, 'cause I live for 'em!


  
  
  
They blazed a trail I dared to run  
They built this world and I have come  
I need another, like a brother  
For a cryin' shoulder  
  
* * * *  
  
"Full marks, Mr. Riddle," Professor Chapman said approvingly. He was head of Slytherin House, and ought to be pleased that one of his students had done so well, Tom thought wryly.   
  
His emerald eyes flickered over the faces of the students closest to him. A few met his gaze without hesitation, but most of them immediately looked away, which pleased him: they'd learned at least one lesson well in the few years that Riddle had dominated his house, and that was a hearty respect for power. His power.  
  
At sixteen, Tom Riddle was well on his way to being Head Boy, and this, too, he took immense pride in. But far more interesting to him was the recent defeat of the Dark wizard Grindlewald by his Transfiguration professor, Albus Dumbledore.   
  
He'd never had much use for Dumbledore; Transfiguration came easily to him, as did nearly everything in the magical world. But the Muggle orphanage he lived in knew nothing of the tremendous and terrible power their charge wielded, and he allowed himself a smile of pure ecstasy as he considered that in another year he would be free to do as he pleased, free to live his life in the only world he would ever call his.  
  
Chapman, having delivered the last of his news, promptly left the room, and Tom leaned back in his chair, grinning at the sour expressions of the rare people who still dared to stand against him. He'd break them, soon, and eventually they too would bow to his superior talents, of that he was entirely confident.   
  
"Good job, Tom," Capella complimented him, and he smiled at her. Capella was one of the few people who did as they liked with no regard for his wishes, and after a few encounters, he'd learned to respect her. Not fear her, of course, he feared nothing, but he admitted that, of all the Slytherins, she alone held any power over him.   
  
"Thanks, Pella," he said easily. He owed much of his success to Capella's magic, and he would never forget that. If he had an equal in dueling, she was it, as she'd proven time and time again. Now he treated her as an equal, a courtesy unmatched by anyone else in Slytherin.  
  
"You'll be runnin' this castle in a few years, I think," she predicted, sitting down in the chair next to him.   
  
"Headmaster?"  
  
"Sure. And after that," she embellished, "Minister of Magic!"  
  
"Ambitious, are you?" he teased, laughing.   
  
"I'm only looking out for you," she countered, and he rolled his eyes.  
  
"No, you're looking out for you, just like always."  
  
"And what's wrong with that?"  
  
"Nothing. Say, Pella, you're an Animagus, aren't you?"  
  
"Yeah. Why?"  
  
"The Gryffindors are getting braver. Don't you think it's time to put `em their place?"  
  
"Nah. Live and let live, Voldemort." Usually her playful use of his nickname was enough to calm him, but not this time.  
  
"What's with you, Capella?" he demanded, and the intensity in his voice startled her. "Why're you backing out now? I thought we were friends, Pella."  
  
"We are. But don't you think this is a bit much? It's just a game, Tom, that's all. And I don't feel like playing."  
  
"It's not a game. This is war, Pella. They hex us, we get right back at them, only worse. They didn't mess with us when you were with me, Capella; the two of us can defeat anyone. We're the best at dueling, and you know that!"  
  
"Hush. You're being too loud," she cautioned. "It's not a big deal. It's just that . . I dunno . . you're acting like this is something serious. You won't die if you don't strike back at them this once, Tom."  
  
"Don't mess with me, Pella. You can stay if you want, you can be a coward if you have to, but don't ever try to turn traitor on me, you understand? We were friends, and you're tough, but I can whip you in a fair fight, you keep that in mind. Don't ever turn your back on me, Pella." Glaring at her with hate-filled eyes, he strode past her chair, disappearing out the door to walk the silent halls of Hogwarts with the ease of a ghost.  
  
"He's gonna get caught, Pella," Andrea warned, and Pella shrugged.  
  
"He's a big boy, he can take care of himself." Then, very softly, "I hope."  
  
* * * *  
Sober mind time now is gone, they carved my   
Body not of stone  
A petty maze of emptiness, I've said the hell  
With all the rest  
* * * *  
  
"Forget her," Tom snarled, and had the pleasure of seeing his old enemy and new ally, Ryan Seira, flinch at his words. "She is unimportant."  
  
"But, my lord, Capella knows you well, and that information could be very useful to Albus Dumbledore. And he, I know, desires your destruction."  
  
"Albus Dumbledore is too naive to ever be a considerable threat. Powerful, yes, but he has no real understanding of battle. And Capella is not to be harmed, under any circumstances."  
  
"She has betrayed you, Lord Voldemort; are we to simply set her free?"  
  
"I will deal with Capella later," and his tone allowed no opposition. "Now, have you learned anything useful about Dumbledore's efforts to capture me?"   
  
"No, my lord," Ryan admitted, cringing.   
  
"Then leave," Tom sighed, mentally berating himself for ever allowing this one to learn of his eventual plans. Something would have to be done about that, but it could wait, while the more pressing problem of Capella demanded an immediate decision that only he could make.   
  
Pella did know more than he'd like, but there was nothing to be done about it now, he supposed. He could not bring himself to harm her; he would simply have to deal with the situation as it was.   
  
"Lord Voldemort!" Blaise came running up to him, and he grimaced - the girl's boundless enthusiasm for all things dangerous was getting on his nerves. And if she kept provoking him, she might find herself in a bit more danger than she'd intended.  
  
"We've captured her!" Blaise said delightedly, grinning up at him.   
  
"Captured who?" he asked irritably, unable to hide his impatience. There were other things he should be doing, after all.  
  
"Capella!"  
  
"What!" He whirled to face her, giving her his complete attention. "Whatever possessed you to do that? Where is she?"  
  
"The . . the dungeons, of course," Blaise informed him, looking totally confused.   
  
Without a word of explanation, Tom promptly disapparated: his experience with apparating made it considerably faster than taking the stairs. He reappeared in the near-total darkness of the dungeons, and his immediate anger at the dimness faded into concern for the absence of the ever present guards.   
  
"Lumps." The light from his wand brightened to the room enough for him to see that the room was indeed deserted, and he looked around warily. If Capella had escaped, she was likely to curse first and ask questions later, and he doubted even his own ability to control Pella when she was in a panic, which accounted for his caution.  
  
"Pella?" he called, not really expecting an answer, and it surprised him when he heard her voice behind him.  
  
"Don't move. Drop your wand."  
  
"Okay, but watch it. Don't do anything you'll be sorry for later," he warned, tossing his wand to her without hesitation - he knew she meant what she said.  
  
"Where are my guards?" he asked, and she smirked.  
  
"Stunned, but unhurt. They're tough; you should be proud."  
  
He shrugged. "I guess." He was studying her face, still half in shadow, but if he was right, heads were going to roll after he got out of this. Oblivious to the danger, he moved closer to her, and was suddenly certain.   
  
"They hit you." His tone was one of quiet fury as he reached out a hand to touch her face, turning her head slightly to get a better look at the bruise on her cheek.   
  
"Yes. Get back, Lord Voldemort," she ordered. "I suppose they did that with prompting from you?" she sneered, and his look of stunned surprise was genuine.  
  
"No!" he said in vehement denial. "They were under orders that you were to be left alone, and they'll pay for this later, one way or another."  
  
"Am I supposed to believe that?"  
  
"Can you believe otherwise?"  
  
"Yes," she said, but he felt the indecision in her voice. "After what I've heard . . . yes, I can."  
  
  
"Then turn me in," he said boldly, stepping forward.  
  
"What?"  
  
"You heard me. Go on, call the rest of them, though that isn't really necessary: I won't hurt you."   
  
She hesitated, lowering her wand, and that was all the opportunity he needed. He leapt forward, snatching his wand from her hand.  
  
"Stupefy!"   
  
Pella collapsed to the floor, and Tom simply stood there a moment, looking down at her. He was utterly disgusted with himself, but remained determined to suppress the reaction. If he could not do this, how was he going to conquer the world that was destined to be his?   
  
He knew she could tell them where he was; he ought to curse her and have it done with, all, of course, in the interest of self-preservation. But he could not bring himself to do her real harm, and he was forced to compromise: he would erase her memory of this encounter, then free her.   
  
With that decided, he felt considerably better. "Obliviate," he murmured; when he was certain of the success of his spell, he gently picked her up, apparating to Hogsmeade without a second thought. It was dark outside; he would not be seen. He left her there, returning to his castle with his conscience fully appeased.  
  
"Pella," he said aloud, "this world will be mine, whatever it takes. It will be mine."  
  
  



End file.
